


We're Up All Night (To Get Lucky)

by thensepia



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, AO3 meta, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fellatio, Fingering, I was excited about the millionth post and this thing just sort of happened, Kind of meta, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stitches, needles (not sexual), olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thensepia/pseuds/thensepia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She was singularly focused on sewing him up, but he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with desire when, absently, she ran her tongue across her red, red lips and bit down."</p><p>Oliver's feelings for Felicity have become irrepressible, and it comes to a head while she is stitching up a knife wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Up All Night (To Get Lucky)

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't really know what happened? I just saw the AO3 1 Million banner, and got all excited, and thought about what a fangirl-type Felicity is, and then thought how she's be awesome at running a website like this and how excited the one millionth post would make her and then... porn happened.
> 
> Yes. Oops, I porned.
> 
> Hope you like it.

Only bleeding a little from a shallow knife slash to the thigh, Oliver let himself into the basement, the heavy thud of bass from the club dropping away as the door locked behind him. Coming down the stairs, however, he heard more music coming from below, and as he reached the landing he saw Felicity, her chair pushed back out of the way, and she was dancing, the music from her computer station turned up and thumping. She’d kicked her heels off and was swinging around, her hips swaying back and forth and her arms thrown up over her head. Oliver paused in shock; he’d never seen Felicity let loose like this, and it was kind of mesmerizing. She’d taken her hair down from its usual ponytail, so it swung around her face as she spun, and she has such a clear, genuine smile on her face, her eyes closed and her teeth flashing. As the song she was listening to came to an end, she spun one last time and opened her eyes to see Oliver, at which point she yelped, jumped back, and grabbed ahold of the desk.

“Um… how long have you been standing there?” she squeaked, leaning forward slightly, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. She was breathing hard, and she reached a hand up to smooth her hair down.

Oliver realized his mouth was open, closed it, and swallowed hard. “A couple of minutes.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” she muttered, covering her face with her hand. She swiveled around to the keyboard and hit a few keys, making the center display go dark. Turning back, she said, “Sorry you walked in on Dance Party 2014 and all, but I was just… wait, are you _bleeding_?!” Her demeanor changed entirely as she noticed the trickle of blood running down his leg. She stepped forward to look at it more closely and then took him by the elbow, moving him over to one of the tables. “Take off your pants,” she said, pulling the medical kit off the shelf and donning latex gloves.

“Is that the line you always use?” he asked, smiling and raising his eyebrow at her as he stripped off his jacket, leaving his undershirt on.

“Ha, ha. Pants, Queen,” she said, her movements efficient as she pulled out gauze, alcohol, and medical tape.

“It’s really not that bad, Felicity. Did Diggle leave?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and then looked away as he unbuttoned and unzipped the leather pants. “He took off an hour ago, so, by all means, let’s leave it to fester and become gangrenous.”

He slid the pants down over his hips, smiling at how Felicity turned away, but he winced and gasped when he got them down to his thigh. The blood had dried, gluing the leather to his skin, and tugging at it, he growled. Felicity turned back to him, alarm on her face, and she reached out to help unstick the material from his wound. Seeing the problem, she dampened it with some sterile saline from a bottle, and once the pants were unstuck from his skin she slid the leathers down his legs and motioned for him to hop up on the table.

She pulled a chair over and dabbed gently at the slice, which had sluggishly began bleeding again. “Yeah, no big deal, Felicity, it’s just a three-inch slash to my thigh with leather stuck in it,” she said, mocking his voice as she began to clean the blood off him.

“I’ve had worse,” he offered, leaning back on his hands.

“Because _that_ makes me feel better,” she muttered. He watched as she leaned over his thigh, intent on her task, seemingly unaware of how close her face was to his crotch. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin latex of her gloves, and her hair brushed his leg as she worked. She slid the edge of his black boxer briefs further up his thigh, out of the way, and pressed a large gauze pad to the cut. “Hold this in place,” she told him, pressing his hand to it. “You’re going to need some stitches to close it up, it’s too wide to clot well. Oh, the things I never thought I’d end up saying.”

He laughed, holding the gauze, and watched her move about the room, gathering more supplies. “Can’t you just glue it?” he asked, watching her pull out medical thread.

“Bad placement. Your clothes would rub the glue off, unless you want to forego pants for a week or so. Which I wouldn’t argue with, but it might be a little out of place at board meetings,” she said. Her coloring had returned to normal, but she still padded around barefoot, and the red dress she was wearing matched her lipstick. Oliver had found it harder and harder lately to ignore his feelings for Felicity, and watching her moving around made his stomach clench. She came back over with a handful of items and lined them up beside him before turning her attention back to his thigh. Taking her seat again, she peeled the gauze off and made a vague clicking sound with her mouth before setting about cleaning him up.

“What happened?” she asked, dabbing at the cut with betadine.

“Guy snuck up on me, sliced me before I could knock him out,” he said, watching the way her lips pursed as she worked.

“Someone snuck up on _you_?” she asked, wiping him down and uncapping a needle. “Local for the stitches,” she said, injecting him with lidocaine.

“I was fighting someone else at the time,” he said, trying not to twitch.

“And a second guy jumped you? Doesn’t seem very sporting.”

“Bad guys these days have no manners,” he said, and she laughed.

Felicity sat back in her chair, waiting for the anesthetic to kick in. She smiled at Oliver. “Everything else went okay though?”

“All taken care of,” he replied, leaning forward and reaching awkwardly for his boot.

“Oh! Let me help,” she said, pulling off her gloves and undoing his laces, sliding off one boot, then the other, followed by easing his pants off over his feet. She held them up and looked at the tear, her red fingernails slipping around the edge of the cut. “These might be shot, Oliver. It’s a hard place to patch.”

He cleared his throat and looked down.“Crime fighting is hard on the wardrobe,” he said, slipping off his socks and trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. Felicity folded the pants and set them aside, and she turned her attention back to his thigh.

Sliding the hem of his underwear back up and out of the way again, she pinched the material between her fingers. “These are soaked in blood too, by the way,” she told him, folding the edge back. He forced himself to look away from her fingers sliding up his leg, and he took a deep breath to try to get control of himself. Donning a new pair of gloves, Felicity opened the needle and prodded gently at the cut with her fingers. “Can you feel that?” she asked, dabbing more gauze across it.

He let out a shaky breath. The wound might be numb, but he could feel it—her—down in his bones. “Go ahead,” he said instead, turning back to watch her work, hoping seeing himself get sewn up would center him. She flipped her hair back over one shoulder and started stitching, her body curved around his leg, one arm thrown across his lap to hold the skin taut. She worked quickly, her pink tongue caught in the corner of her mouth as she made tight, efficient stitches.

“You know, Oliver, when I was learning to hand stitch so that I could make clothes for my Barbies, I never really expected this would be the practical application of that skill.”

“You’re really good at this, so they must have had quite the wardrobe,” he said, looking out across the darkened room. His whole body felt overheated, and her touch on his leg felt like a brand, her hands burning their way into his skin.

  
“My Barbies were a little slutty. Short dresses and dates with two Kens at once,” she said absently. She continued slipping the needle through his flesh, drawing the thread taut and then looping it back on itself, and he felt like she was pressing herself into him with each pull of the needle. She scooted her chair around and straddled his leg, her chest pressing against him as she stitched her way toward his inner thigh, tilting her head and pressing his leg out with her knee to get a good angle. Her hair brushed his other leg, and watching her face as she concentrated, he was mesmerized. He could smell her perfume, something warm and spicy, and he felt enveloped by her, overwhelmed by their proximity and her hands on his skin, even as innocent as it was. She was singularly focused on sewing him up, but he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with desire when, absently, she ran her tongue across her red, red lips and bit down.

Despite his desperation to stay calm and the death grip he had on the edge of the table, his cock started to stiffen, and given how close she was, there was no way to hide it. He watched her leaning over him, and saw all the amazing details of her, the brown streaks threaded through her blonde hair, the lights glinting off the piercings in her ear, her long lashes framed behind the lenses of her glasses, and he felt like he was going to explode, both embarrassed and aroused, wanting to squirm and find some friction against his aching cock and, at the same time, terrified to move. Still, Felicity didn’t notice, finishing the final few stitches and tying off the thread, double knotting it and snipping off the excess. She spun away to grab clean gauze and when she turned back Oliver could see, could pinpoint the _exact_ instance she realized what was happening, saw the shock on her face and the perfect round O formed by her lips. Her eyes traced the length of his dick, stretched out inside his boxer briefs, arching up toward his hip, and he watched in awestruck horror as her tongue slipped out against her top lip and she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were wide, shocky, and he watched as her face flushed, two bright spots on her cheeks that he was pretty sure matched his own. Her hands had frozen, and he stopped breathing as she pinned him with that look, a heated, conflicted, bright light in her eyes.

“Fuck, Felicity, I…” he said, trailing off, having no idea what to say. He didn’t know how to make it better, or make it right. He could drop a room full of armed people, he could run a multimillion dollar company, but he was no match for this woman, and he had no idea what to do. He felt like he was drowning, and he wanted to touch her so badly, but he was terrified to screw this up, to change things.

Change was not exactly his best thing.

“Oliver,” Felicity said, her eyes flicking down and back up. She cleared her throat. “Is this… is this for me?” she asked quietly, her lips parted and her breath quick. For once she didn’t try to fill the silence; she let it stretch out, watched Oliver’s face color, watched the struggle going on behind his eyes until, finally, he sighed, almost resignedly, and slid his hand over hers.

“Of course it is, Felicity,” he said softly. She grinned, quick, calmly took off the gloves and tossed them aside, and stood, knocking the chair away. She looked at him for just a second, a beat, held, her eyes bright, and then she surged forward, pressing her lips to his and sliding her hands up his chest, one wrapping around the back of his neck as if afraid he was going to pull away. Instead he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her body to him, sliding to the edge of the table to press against her. She kissed him furiously, pressing into him, a clash lips and teeth and tongue and hands, and as she fell back he advanced, sliding his tongue alongside hers, mapping her spine with his fingertips. She slid off her glasses and tossed them carelessly to the table, and he thrust a hand into her hair, pulling it slightly in his fist to angle her head back, sliding his lips possessively over hers. She made a noise into his mouth, a throaty moan, and she slid one hand up his uninjured thigh and then up across his cock, her fingers tracing the shape of him through the soft cotton. He made a noise of his own then, almost a growl, and he thrust up into her hand. He could feel himself leaking, and she slipped her hand inside the waistband and ran her fingertips through the wet patch of precome before swirling them around the head.

Oliver broke their kiss to let out a strangled noise, thrusting his hips up toward her as he pressed their foreheads together. “Fuck, Felicity,” he gritted out, his whole body clenching, centered around her touch. Knowing this was going to be over far too soon if she kept gripping his cock like that, hot and firm and perfect, he slid off the table and picked her up, kissing away the surprised noise she made and turning around to sit her on the edge of the table. He slid his hands up her legs, brushed his fingertips over the edge of the simple cotton panties he found there. She took his earlobe between her teeth and sucked on it as he cupped his hand around her, his fingertips pressing into the wetness he found there before slipping them under the edge of her underwear to slide inside her folds and around her clit.

Her whole body arched and she moaned in his ear, her fingertips splayed under his t-shirt and digging into his back. “Ollie, god,” she said breathily. “Why are you even wearing a shirt? _Off_ ,” she demanded, pulling at the hem.

He leaned back enough to pull his t-shirt over his head and she immediately began kissing across his shoulder, lips followed by tongue followed by the brush of teeth as she kissed her way up his neck, her hands splayed out, two points of heat against the flushed skin of his back. She slid them around to his stomach and then up, her fingernails dragging across the scar tissue before she pinched his nipples between her fingertips, tugging slightly and rolling as they pebbled under her touch. His breath caught as she sunk her teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, just this side of painful in a way that mixed with pleasure and made his stomach roll. He pulled her forward by the hips and ground his cock into her, and she moaned and sucked on him, lips and tongue and teeth worrying at his skin, no doubt leaving a mark there.

The very idea of her marking him, marking him as hers, it _wrecked_ him.

“Felicity, I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted _you_ for so long, god, you don’t even know,” he whispered, his hands sliding back up her legs and grabbing her ass.

“I’m yours, Ollie, yours,” she whispered back as she arched against him, and he hooked his fingers over the waist of her panties and slid them down her legs. He slid her back onto the table and then bent, kissing first one knee, then the other before sliding her dress up and looking at her with a lascivious smile.

“Lie back,” he said, trailing his lips across her legs, spreading her thighs apart as he kissed his way up her body. He rubbed his cheek along the inside of one thigh, his stubble scraping across her skin, and he heard her gasp as she leaned back and let her legs fall open. He slipped his tongue inside her folds, stroking slowly, his hands gripping the back of her thighs to pull her closer to his mouth. He teased her, licking her languorously but avoiding her clit until, simultaneously, he slowly pressed one finger inside her as he swirled his tongue around her nub.

Her back arched up off the table as she hissed and thrust a hand into his short hair. “Fuck, Ollie!” He flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit before flattening it out to lick from bottom to top and then swirling it around her clit again, only to do it over again. “Oh, god, that feels so good, Ollie, you don’t even know,” she moaned, her breath quick and her body rocking into his hand. “Another,” she said, tightening around his finger, and his cock twitched as he felt more precome slide out the tip. He groaned into her body as he slid another finger inside her, her body hot and wet and grasping around him. He rolled her clit between his lips as she fucked her hips down onto his hand, and with a litany of curse words he’d never heard her use, she arched her back and ground herself into Oliver’s face and came, shouting and shaking and nearly sobbing. He held her through her orgasm and slowly slid his fingers out of her and, as she watched, slid them into his mouth and swirled his tongue around them to lick her juices off.

“Oh my _fuck_ ,” she said, pushing herself up off the table to kiss him, chasing her own taste from his tongue. She kissed him greedily, her tongue fucking into his mouth, and she slid his boxer briefs down his ass and over his erection, letting them drop to the floor. She turned him by the shoulders, pressing him back into the table and dropping to her knees in front of him. She looked him in the eye and smiled as she ran her hands up his legs, the one skirting over the fresh stitches, and then she leaned in and ran her tongue up his cock, one hot, wet stripe from root to tip. Oliver moaned and grabbed the edge of the table, and Felicity pressed her face to him, licking across his balls, which were tight to his body, his cock steadily leaking now, slow, fat dribbles of precome pumping out the tip. He felt like he had been hard for years, and his entire existence had narrowed down to Felicity’s tongue and lips as she slid them up his cock again, licking the precome off and then licking her lips as she watched his face. She must have seen his desperation, because she leaned forward and swirled her tongue around the head before sliding her mouth over it, her one hand coming up to meet her lips as she sucked him and her other cupping his balls in her hand, tugging slightly. He held on to the table to keep himself from thrusting into her mouth, and she moved her head up and down his cock, spit and precome easing the way as she took him deeper and deeper until, after only a minute, he threw his head back.

“Felicity, your mouth, god, I’m gonna come,” he gritted out, warning her, but she only hummed, the hand wrapped around his shaft tightening as he arched his back and came, hot spurt after spurt emptying into her mouth, and she swallowed it all until finally Oliver shuddered and fell back against the table, the tension gone out of him. He felt empty in a pleasant way, his breath slowly returning to normal. Felicity slowly pulled off him, wiping an errant dribble of come off her chin with the heel of her hand, and he pulled her up off her knees to him and kissed her, chasing his own taste back from her, and their flavors mingled together as they kissed, slowly, leisurely, lazily licking into one another’s mouths. Oliver finally picked her up and carried her over to the couch in the corner, wrapping her in his arms and pulling a blanket across them both. They lay in silence together, curled around each other, Oliver gently running his fingers through her hair, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder.

He wouldn’t exactly call himself an optimist, but right now he couldn’t think of anyplace better than where he was, holding and being held by Felicity, her warm body pressed to him. “Maybe change is good,” Oliver said, knowing it sounded out of the blue.

Felicity pulled back far enough to see his face, and she studied him for a moment before smiling. “Maybe it is,” she said, sounding like she knew exactly what he meant. Maybe she did. She was smarter than him, after all. She put her head back down on his chest and snuggled closer, one hand curled over his heart.

They lay like that for a long time, quiet and drifting. Felicity eventually leaned up to look at Oliver’s cut. “The stitches held,” she said, a note of pride in her voice.

He laughed, kissing her, and she smiled at him, wide and genuine. He remembered the smile she had when he had first walked in. He asked her softly, “Why were you so happy and dancing when I came in?”

She giggled. “Oh, that. Um, a website I help administrate just had its millionth story uploaded.”

“What kind of website?” he asked, twining his fingers through her hair.

She blushed. “Uh… it’s called AO3.”

“What’s that?” he asked, more curious about her evasion than anything else.

“It’s… well, it’s a fanfiction site.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it the smutty kind?” he asked, intrigued.

She blinked at him. “ _You_ know what fanfic is?”

“I totally ship Dean and Cas,” he said, smiling.

She stared at him openmouthed before laughing, a deep, body-wracking laugh, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted her hips into his body. “Then boy, Oliver, do I have just the thing for you,” she said, brushing her lips against his and feeling his own smile against hers.


End file.
